


Seven Devils

by goingdownsinging



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-20
Updated: 2013-04-20
Packaged: 2017-12-09 01:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/768268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goingdownsinging/pseuds/goingdownsinging
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time Louis figures out what’s happening, the devil has already found its way in and settled comfortably, taking over every single second of every single day. It was a long, slow process and now Louis is too tired too fight it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seven Devils

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Florence and the Machine's 'Seven Devils'.

By the time Louis figures out what’s happening, the devil has already found its way in and settled comfortably, taking over every single second of every single day. It was a long, slow process and now Louis is too tired too fight it. He wakes up in the morning feeling drained and doesn’t have the energy to get out of bed, let alone leave the house, but he has interviews and photo shoots to do and there’s people waiting for him. The pressure of that, of knowing there will be people with expectations of him, is nearly overwhelming but so is the urge to stay in bed for the rest of he day and maybe cry for a few hours, but he can’t do that, not today. So he doesn’t.

“You alright?” Harry asks when Louis curls up on a couch at the studio they’re at, small hands curled around a mug of tea. He appreciates the concern, but he could only find PG Tips instead of Yorkshire and there’s a heavy, crushing weight on his chest that keeps him from breathing, let alone having breakfast, so he fakes another smile and nods. “I’m fine, don’t worry.”

Harry’s not buying it anymore and Louis knows it. He can tell by the way Harry is frowning at him, studying his face to find the real answer to the question, but Louis isn’t willing to admit defeat yet. “Stop worrying, I’m alright,” he states as they’re being called to set, quickly putting his mug of disgusting tea away and running towards Zayn, jumping on the other’s back and wrapping arms around Zayn’s neck. “Let’s do this!” Louis yells, adding a fist pump for good measure. Even though not a single smile reaches his eyes, the photo shoot is alright and no one asks Louis how he’s doing. 

Louis hates the pangs of guilt that hit him when he has to sell his best friends another lie, so he doesn’t mind when another day goes by without anyone trying to sit him down for a heartfelt conversation. The devil inside of him is laughing at how weak Louis really is, and he hates himself for allowing this to happen. He’s supposed to keep it together and be the voice of reason when everyone’s going slightly insane from how busy their schedules are, but he doesn’t have it in him to care anymore. It brings on another massive wave of guilt that swallows and suffocates him, keeps him in bed and buried underneath heavy duvets for as long as people will allow him. Louis is a failure, he’s even disappointing himself these days, but there’s nothing he can do about it. The devil inside him is weighing him down, swallowing him whole, and there’s no escaping it.

The next intervention happens weeks later. Tour’s bringing them closer and closer to London and Louis can’t wait to be alone for two weeks, even though it scares him shitless at the same time. For weeks, maybe months, he’s had the desperate urge to be alone to wallow in his own misery and now that it’s within reach, Louis suddenly doesn’t trust himself to be alone anymore. Lou has been looking at him with a knowing look in her eyes for a while but never said anything. Until she’s added a final touch of hairspray to Louis’ perfectly styled hair and put the can away, both hands resting on Louis’ shoulder, rubbing at the tense and sore muscles underneath his shirt. “You need to talk to someone, love,” she says with concern in her eyes.

Lou doesn’t ask how he’s doing, because she _knows_ , so she says what Louis doesn’t want to admit to. He knows he needs to talk to someone, but he doesn’t _want_ to, not yet, at least. He can figure this out on his own, he knows he can, if only he could find the strength to get up in the morning to make breakfast or go for a run, or any of the things he enjoyed doing until he woke up one morning and realised that he was possessed by something much stronger than he’d ever be.  
So Louis does what he knows best. He fakes a smile and nods, promising Lou he’s alright. When he gets up from the chair she put him on, he even hugs her tight before quickly leaving the room and yelling for Niall, who’s just walking by with a packet of crisps in his hand. Three more shows to go until the end of this never ending tour they’re on, four more days until Louis gets home and can hide in his bed for two weeks straight. He’s been keeping it together for months now, so can he wait another four days. He must.

Louis feels like he’s about to lose it when he’s being dropped off at his flat four days later. The first cracks in his armour and voice appear when he says his goodbyes, grabs his bag and wanders inside the building. Louis is praying the boys will blame it on him being emotional, because it’s been an amazing tour and last night’s show was the perfect ending, and hopefully they’ll leave him alone for two weeks. It takes Louis five minutes to make it up to his flat and close the door behind him. He leaves his bag and shoes in the hallway and another minute later he’s curled up in bed with the duvet pulled over his head. He’s drowning, suffocating and the weight on his chest is unbearable, making his skin feel too tight for his body and he’s desperate to claw out, but he can’t. Sobs wrack his body and it feels like his world is crumbling, falling down around him and if he doesn’t wake up in the morning, then maybe that’ll be alright.

He spends the next week living like a zombie and feels like a stranger in his own skin. Louis’s mind and body feel too heavy to do anything other than make and drink tea, the wrong kind because he ran out of Yorkshire two days after he got home, and he hasn’t showered or changed clothes all week. His phone’s been on the kitchen table, on silent for days now and Louis’ notices how the screen lights up as he shuffles into the kitchen on a quest for more tea. Another missed call he doesn’t care about and he’s amazed that none of his friends have invited themselves over yet. They have keys of each other’s front doors, just in case, but no one has bothered coming over yet. Louis really has failed, as a person and as a friend, because no one cares. He doesn’t even care about himself anymore, a ghost of the person he once was, but then a key turns in the lock of his front door.

Louis doesn’t move, hands curled around the edges of the kitchen counter and eyes fixed on the wall, like the person at the door will just disappear if he pretends he’s not there. He really, genuinely doesn’t want to see or talk to anyone right now and doesn’t want anyone to see him in the state he’s in. So he keeps quiet and stands there, waiting for the person to go away. But they don’t.

“Oh fuck, please open a window, Tomlinson. And unpack your bag, you slob.”  
“Fuck you, Grimshaw,” Louis mumbles, biting down hard onto his bottom lip as he slowly turns around, as if that’ll make Nick disappear. “What the fuck are you doing here? Go away.” Only the words sound weak to his own ears and Louis knows exactly what he looks like. His eyes are bloodshot and there’s bags under his eyes, his skin is pale, hair a mess and he’s still in the clothes he was wearing when the boys dropped him off a week ago. He’s a mess and Nick doesn’t pity him, doesn’t look at Louis with sadness in his eyes.

But before Louis can ask what the fuck Nick’s doing there, standing in his kitchen and telling him to open a fucking window, Nick’s already talking again.

“Harry called and said you’re not picking up your phone,” he starts and opens a few cupboards in the kitchen, inspecting the fridge and making a face as he finds a bunch of grapes that reached their expiry date a few months ago. “According to him, you’ve been looking sad lately and you’re a liar, because no matter what you’ll try to tell me, you’re not fine, Tomlinson.” Nick pauses for a moment as he throws the grapes out and quickly washes his hands afterwards. “You’re depressed.”

Louis is still standing with his back pressed to the kitchen counter, feeling shaky and weak as his dull eyes watch Nick’s every move. “I’m depressed,” he mumbles, voice low as he tests the way the words roll off his tongue. Some form of relief washes over him when the devil that’s been crushing him finally has a name. He’s known it for weeks, months, but never dared to say it out loud, as if the heavy weight on his chest would suddenly disappear if he’d ignore it long enough. “Yeah…” he says quietly and reaches a hand up to push his fingers through his sticky, greasy hair, grimacing at the feeling.

Nick’s watching Louis from across the kitchen as if he knows about the internal struggle that’s happening, as if he can see right through the walls that Louis pulled up to keep anyone from seeing how miserable he really is. 

“You need to shower,” Nick states, his voice calm and even as he looks right into Louis’ dull eyes. “And put on some clean clothes. That’s the first step and I think you can manage that, right?” Louis is overwhelmed once again and can only nod, but doesn’t move. Not until Nick’s fingers curl around his wrist and pull him into the direction of the bathroom, Nick then leaving for a few minutes and coming back with a small pile of clothes in his arms. “Sweats, jumper, socks and underwear,” Nick states as he puts everything in the sink, not once asking if Louis even _wants_ to do any of things, if the other even wants _him_ there. 

Louis still doesn’t know what to say, so he watches Nick walk out of the bathroom and close the door behind him until Louis is alone with his thoughts again. He slowly pulls his jeans and t-shirt off, gets rid of the boxer briefs that he should’ve changed days ago, and steps into the shower. Nick’s suddenly taking charge of Louis’ life and he doesn’t even have it in him to put up a fight. He doesn’t even like Nick, for fuck’s sake, but somehow the man seems to understand. 

\--

For some reason, Louis hadn’t realised that Nick had come with a bag full of kitchen essentials like tea and milk and many other things that he hadn’t bothered buying after getting home. He’d survived on stale biscuits, endless mugs of tea and a few ready meals he’d found in the freezer. When he opens the bathroom door, the fresh scent of shampoo and citrus and lemon body wash trailing after him, he can also smell toast and a cup of Yorkshire. He can smell the difference between a cup of Yorkshire and the sad excurse for tea he’d been drinking, and his lips twitch into a smile that never fully forms. 

\--

“I was depressed at twenty five,” Nick starts, staring ahead at a re-run of Friends that’s playing on the tv, the volume low since neither of them is really paying attention, anyway. “I’d been struggling to get into radio for years and then finally got a job. The show with Annie,” he adds, because it’s an important detail. Nick still loves Annie dearly and the first year of being on radio had been an absolute dream, but he had no idea how much his busy schedule and lack of social life were weighing him down until it had been too late. 

“I felt guilty for not always being happy at first,” he continues and reaches for the wine glass on the coffee table, twisting the stem between his fingers to have something to do with his hands. “Then I was always working and felt guilty for being a terrible friend. Next came the parties, the alcohol and drugs to forget about how I’d failed as a friend, even as a brother and a son, and the next morning I’d wake up in a stranger’s bed and feel guilty about _everything_.” 

Louis is quiet as Nick’s talking, listening intently and wondering how they never really struck up the easy friendship both had with Harry, especially since they are so alike. Maybe that’s exactly why they’d never shown any interest in getting to know the other. Louis wants to say how he understands, that it’s exactly how he’s feeling, but he can’t. Not yet and Nick understands, or maybe he wasn’t done talking yet, not even expecting Louis to say anything.

“It’s like one morning I woke up to a giant sitting on my chest and I couldn’t understand when and how he got there,” Nick shrugs, sighing as he pushes the fingers of his free hand through his deflating quiff, tugging and twisting the strands in an attempt to make it look semi-decent. “He didn’t let me get out of bed, was clinging to me when I tried to leave the house. The only time he seemed to shrink in size was when I was completely wasted or high on something illegal, so that’s what I did,” he says, shrugging and finally glancing over at Louis who’s motionless, staring at the tv screen.

“I got rid of the giant by moving in with Annie for a few months. Kept me from going out as much and forced me into a normal rhythm, even when she didn’t get me most of the time.” Nick had only moved in with Annie after being told by his doctor that most depressions cure themselves after three to six months, but they’d been the longest, loneliest five months of his life. Nick wasn’t deaf or blind and could hear the sad, lifeless tone of Louis’ voice and see the pale colour of his skin. They’d never even been friends, but when Harry had called him in despair, Nick couldn’t leave Louis to his own devices.

\--

Louis heads back on tour, calls at all hours of the night and Nick never complains. Louis calls when he can’t sleep or right after he’s woken up from a nightmare, even if there’s a six to nine hour time difference separating them.  
One day, Louis’ name flashes across the screen of Nick’s phone right after he started Rihanna’s new single after one of Olly Murs’ and he tells Fincham to please queue up the next song on the playlist if he isn’t back in three minutes and fifty two seconds.  
“God, sorry,” is the first thing Louis says as Nick answers the call, even before he can even get a word in. “You’re in the middle of the show, _sorry_.” He’s close to tears and sounds hysterical, like he’s two seconds away from having a complete breakdown. It’s not the first time this has happened in the three weeks that Louis has been in America and Nick knows he definitely won’t make it back before Rihanna’s done whinging about fancy champagne.

Nick can hear Louis’ heavy and irregular breathing and the sob that’s wrenched out of him before he starts talking. “Does it ever get better? Because it doesn’t feel like it.” He knows better than to ask questions or tell Louis that he’s a brilliant person, because why would Nick try to convince Louis of something he refuses to believe? So instead, he says what usually seems to work. “Your monster won’t disappear for a while, but you can look past him,” Nick says calmly as he quickly slides into the break room and closes the door behind him. “Make yourself some tea, eat a few biscuits and remember that you’ll be home in two days. You’ll be on a flight home tomorrow, yeah?” 

Louis doesn’t say anything for a few minutes, but Nick can hear him moving around the room and then finally Louis’ breathing slows down. “And you’ll be there, right?” he asks in a small voice and Nick can’t say no.

\--

It’s a sunny Saturday afternoon, two months later, when Nick decides to drag Louis out of his flat. They take the underground to Wood Green and then walk up the hill to Alexandra Palace. The view of London is stunning from the top, but the park surrounding the palace might be even better, especially on a day like this. They make it to the top and Nick treats Louis to ice cream before they settle in the grass, not even bothering to sit in the shade offered by the tall trees. The sun is warm on their bare arms, sunglasses perched on their nose and it’s _nice_.

Louis is licking at his ice cream as he looks out over the city, lips curled into a relaxed, genuine, perfectly content smile. It’s the best he’s looked in the two months he’s been home since the American tour came to an end. Nick loves the smile on Louis’ face and that glimmer of happiness that’s back in his eyes.  
The devil that had crept into Louis and had taken possession of him, squeezing his chest until he simply couldn’t fight it anymore had disappeared. It was sitting on his shoulder now, waiting for a chance to slip back in but Louis wouldn’t let it happen again. Not now, at least. 

“Why me?” Nick asks after minutes of comfortable silence, the laughter of playing children nearby forming background noise to their thoughts. “I mean, why did you let me boss you around?” He is looking over at Louis, legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles, leaning back on his hands.

Louis shrugs as if it’s no big deal at all. “You were the only one that didn’t have expectations of me. We weren’t even friends and you didn’t want me to answer your texts and calls, didn’t want to hang out with me,” he tries to explain, looking over at Nick. His dark sunglasses are hiding his eyes, but his forehead is still creased as he searches for words. “You just showed up and understood, I guess. You never made me feel guilty for feeling like a failure.” Louis then laughs, his smile bright and head thrown back in laughter. “I still can’t believe I called you at all hours of the night, just to have you tell me to make tea and eat biscuits.”

Nick isn’t a therapist, will never be, and Louis is giving him too much credit. He had only listened to Louis when he wanted to talk and had never even bothered trying to tell Louis what an amazing person he was. That was something he had to work out on his own and Nick had never mastered the art of being very comforting, anyway. 

“You’re such a tea snob, though. You can smell Yorkshire from miles away and apparently it works better than all the antidepressants in the world,” Nick says with a teasing grin. When Louis lets out another loud laugh and opens his mouth to say something, Nick can’t help but lean in and press a soft kiss to Louis’ lips.  
  
“Welcome back, Tomlinson.”


End file.
